House Doesn't Live Here Anymore
by calicoskies4ever
Summary: House struggles with moving out of the loft, and eventually ends up back "home" drunk, and feeling like needy/ sorry for himself. Slash, Established Relationship, Spoilers through Baggage, OOC/AU. Rated M for adult themes. Chapter one of at least three.


"Broke into the old apartment; this is where we used to live. Broken glass, broke and hungry, broken hearts and broken bones…why did you paint the walls? Why did you clean the floor? Why did you plaster over the hole I punched in the door? This is where we used to live. Why did you keep the mousetrap? Why did you keep the dish-rack? These things used to be mine, I guess they still are, I want them back," Barenaked Ladies.

When Wilson told me he wanted me to leave—casually over breakfast, like he was asking for the milk—it made my heart feel like it had been kicked in the testicles. It made me want to hate him. It always hurts when he does that, and it always makes me want to hate him but I never really got mad. I can't count the number of times he's done the same thing to me, and I can count pretty damn high. Okay, so I couldcount. I'd just prefer not to. Thinking about how he dumped me when he met Bonnie, and Julie, and Amber (or any of the other girls he's fallen in love with over the years) would only cause me more pain.

When I told him I was going back to my old apartment, the look on his face showed that I'd made him feel almost as bad as he made me feel. Usually I don't think twice about what I say to people, but I'm always so careful with Jimmy because he's the only one who can remotely stand me. But I was pissed. He was picking Sam over me. She had hurt him before, and no matter what Wilson said, the bitch hadn't changed. I had no doubt in my mind that he'd eventually get tossed aside and would then come crawling back the way he always did, and I would—as _I_ always did—accept his apology, take him back.

Going "home" to find Alvie there was almost a relief. I say almost because it took thirty seconds to discover how he had hawked my stuff to buy paint that I didn't want, because the kid was a pain in my ass from the second I opened the door until he the minute he left but at least when he was around, I wasn't alone. I've come to realize—since I moved in with Wilson and became addicted to all the love and attention and the all the care he gave me—that I _hate_ being alone. As annoying as he was, I still spent as much time as possible with Alvie. Having him around allowed me to avoid Jimmy. Too bad it didn't last. He left me too. Then I started drinking. One night—a day or two after I quit therapy—I went and got stinking drunk. I got stupid drunk. I got so drunk that I found myself stepping out of a cab in front of the loft instead and not at my apartment.

"Shit," I screamed into the darkness, but no one heard me. Nobody heard or saw me all night. Not as I rushed through front door and out of the rain. Of course it was raining. Cold, wet, sad, scared, alone, and in pain…perfect. Not as I stepped into or out of the elevator. _Maybe I'm dead, and wondering the Earth invisible and alone is my version Hell, _I thought. Nobody saw me as I slid my key into the door, and nobody noticed me climb into my old bed, not even bothering to remove my shoes or wet clothes. They also didn't notice as I cried myself to sleep a pussy.

I woke up several hours later, and Wilson was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at me with worry in his eyes. I think he wanted to seem angry but he was so busy being worried he couldn't pull it off. He had this hand in my hair, and he'd taken off my shoes, pulled the blankets over me, and stayed at my side for who knows how long. "How mad was Sam?"

"No idea. If she knew you were here, she didn't say anything about it to me before leaving for work," he explained, running his fingers over the top and back of my head. A minute went by. "I don't like this, Greg."

"Go to Hell," I moaned, as I sat up, inspecting my body for injuries and patting my pockets to make sure nothing had been taken from me while I was out of commission. Wilson climbed into bed beside me, draping his arm across my shoulder. "Don't tell me she's already reserving the right to refuse to service you," I taunted. Part of the reason Jimmy had always cheated in the past was because he is the horniest bastard who ever lived. Even if Sam was screwing his brains out on a daily basis, it wouldn't be enough and I had a feeling she hadn't been doing him that much. I knew I could still be part of his life; I just couldn't have him all to myself. I realized, as he was rubbing my back, that I had a choice. I could be a whore and help him be unfaithful again, or I could walk out the door with a tiny shred of my dignity intact.

"Cute," he whispered, leaning over and kissing my temple. I let out a deep breath. "I can't do what you want, House. I like you. We have fun together but you're not the "Till death do us part" type. You and I are best the way we always have been. "

"You're marrying her already?" I couldn't decide if I should stab Wilson, blow my head off, or just go home, get stoned, and try to make myself forget.

"Don't interrupt," he ordered. I complied but only because my head felt as if it had been hit by a bus, and I was on the verge of vomiting. His thinking this way, believing I was nothing more than a fuck buddy. I told Wilson I wanted to keep things casual. Thirteen Years ago. The truth is, I wasn't sure if I wanted to be more or not. Maybe I was only unhappy about him dating/ fucking/ living with Sam because I couldn't stand sharing him. _Maybe you're wrong about her, ad trying to hold onto the only person in your life at the expensive of his happiness._

"Can I just go home? I got drunk and forgot where to go. I made a stupid mistake. It won't happen again," I swore, but the last thing I want to do was leave, and the truth was that while I _had _found my way to the loft on accident, I had also decided to come inside and to spend the night there deliberately.

"Stay, let me make you some pancakes. You look like you haven't eaten in days." I would have killed for something Wilson lovingly prepared for me, but I knew that I couldn't stay and eat. If I did, I wouldn't be able to stop myself when he tried to kiss me, or when he took my clothes off. So, I shook my head and started to leave. "House wait," he called, and I turned around, hating myself for giving into him.

"I can't stand the way things are between us right now," he whined. I let him stand behind me and wrap his arms around my waist as he squeezed my hips between his fingers. He pressed his pelvis right up against my ass. I felt his breath against the side of my neck, and my dick started to fill. "Let's work on our relationship." I nodded, kissed back, and let him drag me to the bed. Kissing turned to dry humping, turned to us pulling at our clothes, turned to us tossing them aside, turned to Wilson grabbing a bottle of lubricant and sticking his lubed-up fingers inside of me, turned to him on top of and then inside me, while he put his hands on my cock, turned to grunting, sweating, pumping, tugging, turned to us cumming.

Afterwards, I agreed to snuggle. That's how desperate I was for his affection. I let him hold me, while I pressed my face into his chest and chewed a hole in the side of my cheek to keep from crying in front of Wilson. "Look I think I might have made a mistake in asking you to leave. The three of us could have made things work." We both knew that wasn't true. "Or uh," he began to stammer, as he smoothed my hair back. "I love you, Greg. And I don't care how stupid you think that is anymore. If you want to come back, I'll break things off with Sam, and we can try and be…maybe you were right, we should give this thing between us a real try. What do you say?" Everything inside of me was screaming, "say yes" just as it had when he'd proposed. But James Wilson does everything in cycles. We'd be happy together for a while. He'd probably marry me but there's no way it would last. We would end up divorced and then I'd be completely and utterly alone. Forever. At least now I had my Jimmy every once in a while. No matter how bad things got, or what he did, or how much he hurt me, I knew _I_ would never hate _him_. Who could? But he might stop loving me; in fact there was a high probability of that. And I couldn't risk losing him.

So, I sat up, pulled my clothes back on, climbed off the mattress, headed for the door, and said, "Knock it off, Wilson; you and I both know we could never be married or whatever. You're just scared 'cause you're starting to commit to things with Sam and you don't know if it's going to work out or not. Don't use _me_ as an excuse to wreck things with _her._" He nodded, and like the idiot he is, let me walk out the door without saying a Goddamn word!

"Poker," he said as I turned the doorknob. I swiveled around on my heals. "Thursday night…at your place." I shrugged, proud of myself for not saying yes right off the bat. "I can get some more of that massage oil you like,' Wilson promised.

"Yeah," I said with a tiny smile, on my way out. "See you then." I am such a pathetic, needy, whore.


End file.
